Long Live the King!
by AmmyLikesCupcakes
Summary: He knew that wasn't her name, so why did he call her that? The visions, the voices, it's all getting worse...and he needs to protect her in this dead world. It's all Her fault. It's because of Her that he's changing into this monster. Well, that's what they say: you either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain. Either way, long live the King.
1. Prologue

Long Live the King!

— PROLOGUE —

The small fire danced and crackled under the endless night sky, sending a soft orange glow across the face of the old man. He sighed, leaning against the broken and discarded television he had set up and pretended that it was still working. Next to him was his bag of foodstuffs, supplies, and other miscellaneous items discovered in the travels through the broken land. He glanced over at the sleeping bag that was set up for his traveling buddy—a sweet yet strong seven year-old half demon girl—and heard her snoring lightly in her sleep. He smiled, relieved that she seemed to be doing okay. Earlier that day she had started to show signs of what could have been a cold or a fever, some kind of illness, so Simon was worried that _something_ bad would develop if it hadn't already. When you live in a post-apocalyptic world, if you were to fall ill, it seemed obvious that there was little chance that you could find medicine or anything else that would be able to help a good deal.

Simon walked over and threw another piece of scrap into the fire to keep it going a little more then walked back to the busted television. They had enough that they were carrying to spare, and there was enough flammable junk that wasn't dangerous to burn lying around as well. He promised himself that he wasn't going to go to sleep that night. He needed to make sure that Marceline was healthy and doing well, Glob forbid she was actually sick with something.

"You should get some rest, Simon."

Simon huffed. He knew that taunting, evil, lovely voice better than his own changing one. "I don't need it, and I especially don't need to tell you to tell me what I need," he retorted, grumbling under his breath.

He wasn't going to give in this time. _Just ignore It, Simon. It'll be quiet and leave you alone eventually. _Of course, deep down he knew that wasn't true. The Crown never gave up. It loved to toy with him. It knew his every thought, every weakness, and It would use these and more to gain control over him.

"You must be exhausted, looking after a little brat like her and trying to support yourself at the same time."

He turned sharply to The Crown, which sat on the ground near his bags. "Don't talk about little Marcy like that," he snapped, trying not to immediately turn the conversation into a one-way shouting match. "She could be ill and all you do is just sit there and poke fun at her!"

The Crown continued ignoring the anger and resistance the old man was throwing around within his sentences, knowing that he didn't really mean them. He never did. "This is the first time in a long while that you have separated yourself from me, my king. It's so cold on the ground. Let me sit with you and we can be warm by the fire together."

"You don't mind the cold; you control it. Don't try to make me feel guilty."

"Even so, it isn't very nice to leave me down here, Simon. I'm so cold and alone down here... You know what that is like, don't you?"

Simon glanced over at The Crown hesitantly and started to reach for It before realizing what he was doing and swatting his hand away. No. He couldn't give in this time. He was going to put an end to this. _But...It—no, It's a _She_—is all alone...cold...I can't just...no..._

The Crown recognized this resistance and quickly fought back. She cried for him, She repeated his name, She wished for his company, and She was determined to gain control over him through any means necessary. She knew he would try to resist Her control, to forget Her, but no, no, that wouldn't be good.

"Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!" he shouted angrily at Her, picking Her up and shaking Her violently before throwing Her back on the ground and kicking Her away. He turned to Marceline to see her softly rustle in her sleep. Thankfully, she hadn't woken up and heard him fighting with the voice only he could hear.

It was then he heard a sniffling in the darkness that sounded like someone crying. It wasn't from the campsite itself. It was from the darkness that surrounded it. Immediately, he got up and walked over to The Crown, picking Her up, walking Her back over to the warm fire, and settling Her into his lap. He didn't say anything. He only felt that sharp pang of guilt in his chest that he got whenever he acted up like this and abandoned The Crown—his beautiful, icy, powerful Crown—even if it was for only a small moment. The damned thing was annoying, but he needed it. The Crown was his only sense of protection, of security, of _power_. Without Her, him and little Marcy surely would have died by then. He couldn't lose this Crown. _Never_.

If The Crown had an actual face, She would have been smirking in total victory, and Simon knew that. It made him furious and sad all at the same time. "That's right, my king," She said in that sickeningly soft voice She spoke in whenever a fight was won. "We need each other. I'll forgive you for that little episode, just promise me you won't do it again."

Simon nodded, succumbing to The Crown's hurtful yet somehow gentle understanding. "Yes, my dear," he agreed softly.

...

After another hour or two, the fire started to die out and left little hot orange cinders in the pile of wood and junk. It didn't matter too much that there was no more fire though because Simon had fallen asleep with his dear Crown clipped to his side like always.

When she was sure that he had fallen asleep, Marcy rolled over and stared at Simon sleeping on top of the television he had set up for her, holding her stomach with one hand and her stuffed animal Hambo with the other. She wasn't feeling all that well in the first place and a growing stomachache was partially what had woken her up, but the other part was hearing the shouting argument that was happening only a few feet away from her sleeping bag. She listened in on Simon's argument with The Crown which sent a stinging pain of worry through her. She could only hear one side of the argument. That's all she could ever hear when Simon was talking with that evil..._thing_. She could never even try to comprehend what exactly The Crown was saying to him. The only thing she was absolutely and completely positive of, was that The Crown was certainly not saying anything that good or encouraging.

"Simon," she whispered, silently hoping for Simon to hear her wish in his sleep, "you have to keep fighting. Don't listen to that stupid crown...please..."

He moved, mumbling something inaudibly in his sleep. She sighed and curled up into a little ball in the warm sleeping bag. He had used the Crown earlier, and he almost couldn't get back to his normal self after taking off the Crown. He was getting _worse_. There was only so much time left before he would never go back to the funny, caring friend known as Simon Petrikov that she knew. She wanted to do something, she _had _to do something before it was too late.

...

_I love you, Simon._

_ I love you too...Gunter._

That was his response to what she told him. She loved him. She loved him for his funniness. She loved him for his kindness. For his optimism and bravery when times looked like they were going to take a terrible turn, for caring for her when the rest of the world was dead, for being her _friend_. He didn't have to stop and help her when she was left there crying Glob-knows-how-long ago. He _wanted_ to. He _wanted_ to help her and travel with her and be friends with her. And she loved him for all of that and more.

But that man was dying.

He couldn't even remember her name now.

Surrounded by these strange dirt-colored blobs that oozed out a stranger green ooze from huge pores in their body—_monsters_, they were_ hideous, terrifying monsters_—Simon had put on The Crown to protect them. He started singing the silly song he sang when he built the pretend cardboard television and then...

Ice. Everywhere. Snow and ice.

"Taking a break from all your worries," sang Simon, "sure would _help_ _a lot! _Wouldn't you like to go to where _everybody knows your name?_"

With the monsters covered in snow and no longer moving, the lyrics slowed to a stop. He knocked The Crown off his head and left it in the snow where his glasses were now lying. Even though they were broken, he still needed them, but for some reason at that moment he felt perfectly fine. He could see everything, including the chicken noodle soup that was dangling from the strange pink substance all over the opposite wall. Simon ran over and grabbed it along with the can opener that stuck next to it. Perhaps it was simply another wild hallucination from Her, but he could have sworn that the substance _smiled_. It confused and startled him, making him wonder even more about the pink blob that had given him assistance more than once that day. More worried about little Marcy who was alone in the old car that sat along the dead end of the large alleyway, he grabbed the items and ran over, feeding her the soup and hugging her tightly.

_She was going to be alright. Yes, little...what's-her-name...Mary? Maggie? No, no...Gunter. That's the only name that comes to mind... That's her name, right? Yes, little Gunter. She'll be okay. Though...was something wrong in the first place? I can't remember... It's probably nothing._

_ Gunter. I love you too, Gunter._


	2. Chapter One

Long Live the King!

— CHAPTER ONE —

_ Gunter_.

Why had he called her that? He _knew_ that wasn't her name. He had called her by her name—her _real_ name—so many times. How could he just forget something so precious like little...what's-her-face's name? Could it have been Her that made him forget? Was it Her doings that made him unable to remember?

No, of course not. He knew She was trying to take over, but he wouldn't let it happen. Not this time and not ever again. He promised himself that for the sake of Marcy and his own sanity. He couldn't lose control over himself anymore and turn to see the look in her eyes.

That look. It made his heart shrivel up into the darkest corner of his insides and want to do nothing except rot there and die.

If anyone was ever given such a look, they deserved to have their heart rot and die as they were sent into the deepest, darkest part of the Nightosphere, especially if that look was coming from an adorable seven-year-old, from...

(rememberhernameismarcelinemarcelinemarcelinelittl emarcy)

Marceline.

"Marceline?"

Little Marcy, who was sitting in a corner of the oddly shaped cave, looked over to Simon with speckles of water forming in her bright eyes. Simon was glancing around at these new surroundings, though it was understandably difficult considering he wasn't wearing his glasses. The two of them were no longer in the city that contained the monsters and they weren't near the forest. They were in a cave in the mountains. Lots of grassy green beautiful mountains. There weren't too many trees crowding the area, but the view either way was beautiful when looking around at the vast peacefulness of nature that had not been touched all that much by the War. One could look over and see the dead city where they once were, standing tall and crippled as a simple inch of black and gray in the distance. How did they get this far? Had Marceline brought them here? Or...was it Her? Had he lost control of himself again and She had brought them here? He held his head and exhaled a breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He couldn't remember anything that had happened... He only remembered hugging Marcy and then _the look_.

"M...My glasses," he stammered. "I can't see that well..."

"Simon."

He followed her voice and stared at the blurred gray and blue figure that was standing a couple feet away from him. It trembled, taking small, extremely hesitant steps.

"Marcy, how did we get here?"

She ignored his question and ran up to him, pushing him back from his sitting position.

"Simon, you old jerk!" she shouted at him, tears starting to silently fall down her cheeks. "You promised you wouldn't put it back on! You_ promised!_"

He stared at the ground, realizing what had happened. He really thought he could control Her this time. He could already hear Her snickering at him for thinking such an evidently ridiculous thought. "I know," he admitted. He looked up to see her blurred outline and carefully moved over to her. She shook her head at him and took a step backwards, not trusting him. She tried to keep him away from her, and for a moment he kept his distance, but then he crawled over and wrapped her in his arms. He pushed back the tears that tried to fall from all the sorrow and pain he felt for making Marcy so terrified of him. "I'm so sorry, Marcy...but if I didn't... I had to for our protection. You know that. I love you...Marceline."

She stopped her small meaningless struggle to escape his embrace. She couldn't get away from him. Now that the old Simon had somehow managed to return, she didn't really want to leave him either. It had been a while since the real, true Simon Petrikov had been around, and she wanted to hang on to him forever to make sure he stayed this time. After a moment, she wrapped her arms around him and returned his hug. He felt so cold, but it wasn't as bad as when he was with The Crown. When the antique grabbed hold of his mind, he was three times as cold that it was beyond the already inhuman temperature he was at. It was scary how cold he was able to become.

"You were acting weird _again_, Simon," she choked out, "for a whole week."

He released her sadly, looking down and putting his hand at the side where The Crown was always hooked onto his belt. Always, at least, until that moment. He frantically and without thinking leaped around blindly along the rough ground. _Where was She?! She was gone, _gone_. No, She couldn't be! She had to be here, She had to...!_

"Where is She!" he snapped toward Marceline, making his statement sound more of a demand to bring The Crown to him than a question.

Marcy was slightly confused by the "she" of the conversation, but she could guess that he meant The Crown. She had wanted to kick It—she would never refer to The Crown as a "She"—off the edge of a cliff where she would never see It again. She wanted to throw It back into the dreaded city where It would be eaten or, at the very least, taken away by the monsters. Of course, she didn't. She knew how much It meant to Simon despite It being a conniving, evil, little antique. He would go even crazier without The Crown by his side. In the end, it wouldn't be worth it. She had just hoped that she would be able to convince him to not use It that much anymore.

She scuffed the tip of her shoe and sighed before shuffling over to the pile of bags and old, beaten up supplies that she and the crazy Simon had found when walking out of the city. He had insisted they didn't need it, but she took it anyway. Hidden deep inside one of the bags when pulled out from underneath the supplies was The Crown.

"I hid It yesterday," she told him. "You threw It against a wall, so I took It from you so you would go back to normal... it was scary, Simon, _you_ were scary."

Simon snatched The Crown from Marcy. She had hidden Her away from him! How could she do that? She, The Crown, was their sense of protection, and she just threw Her away! Had she no decency, no gratefulness, no _respect_ for their savior?

(youknowthatmustbesoconfusingforalittlegirl)

It was very confusing. More than confusing, it must have been downright _terrifying_ for her. And he wasn't making things any easier at that moment either.

"My king, you need to punish this brat for keeping me away from you."

"Yes, I know...I mean...no...I-I can't...!"

"Simon. She's _lying_. She's a little brat. That's what she's supposed to do. That's all she does. You need to punish her, show her who is in charge."

"I won't...you're not taking over this time! I won't let you!"

Marcy looked at Simon, who was now bent over on the ground shaking and holding his arms down with each other as if they would leap out and strangle poor little Marcy if he didn't keep them under the slight obedience he had over them. She put forward a little hand with concern asking the old man what was wrong.

He tried to answer, he really did. Except She kept filling his mind with deep malevolent thoughts which could only make him shout and yell in incoherent anger at the invisible voice.

Marceline watched Simon as he tried to throw away The Crown that refused to leave his hands. It stayed within his grasp as if someone had used super glue to make It permanently be attached to his him. At one moment, It just barely managed to stay on the tips of his fingers. This was the moment Marcy took to grab The Crown and run to a corner of the cave with It. Just holding It that close to her was enough to frighten her. She could feel the cold metal against her bare arms and the energy—_the energy_ It gave off was _enormous_. _Frighteningly_ enormous.

"T-The Crown..._my_ Crown..." he stammered, shakily getting off the ground. His voice rose into a monstrous roar, "_Give me my Crown, Marceline!_"

She stared at him for a moment. He had never yelled at her like that. He might have given her a very stern talking to once in a while or raised his voice just a little, but he never really _yelled_. Suddenly, he was practically screaming. _This is really bad_, she thought. Marceline shook her head rapidly and ran with The Crown. Simon took one step and weakly fell back to the ground, shouting at the little girl to come back and return The Crown to him. The Crown called out for him to get up and follow the little girl so She could be returned to him. It was obvious that Marceline wasn't going to go back there. She wanted to. She really wanted to go back and help her weakening friend. That's what friends do, right? They help each other when they need it most. That's all Simon's ever done for her: helped her whenever she needed it, and sometimes even when she didn't need it. She wanted to help him too, but she knew that he was having a bad reaction to being under the malicious mind control by The Crown for an entire week in addition to the normal power It usually had over him.

The answer was as simple as one added to one. She needed to run, and she needed to get rid of The Crown.


End file.
